


Head for the Hills

by astrotxt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Emetophobia, M/M, director!dean, everybody's in the film industry baaasically, mention of violence, screenwriter!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2318828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrotxt/pseuds/astrotxt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is a screenwriter, and a great one at that, but blasts from the past aren’t exactly simple in Hollywood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head for the Hills

“He’s a hack,” Cas sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, his thick black frames hitching above his fingers, “The most he can do is make explosions pop on screen, and that’s all very well but I don’t want that. I want something more.”

“We’ve been trying our best, Novak, but your screening process is pretty picky,” Ellie explains, her hair still tied back in a perfect ponytail despite the California heat, “You want a good director? You’re gonna have to pick one and stick with him, long as you can. You gotta stick it out, man.”

Poor Ellie, Cas thinks, long-suffering for his particular edge that Hollywood has started clamouring for after nearly a decade of poverty. But he can’t pick  _any_ director, he needs someone with integrity, who understands the message, who cares about the art rather than the money. This screenplay has been sitting on his computer since he was nineteen, and all the studios are lapping for some juvenilia, thinking it has the household Castiel Novak edge, but it’s just teen angst repurposed for a different age, that’s all. Still, it was his first serious piece, and he needs someone who really knows his stuff.

He looks down the list, having skipped down the list of names until a name pops out at him like a lance through his memories.

He stubs a bitten-to-the-quick fingernail at the name and gruffly informs Ellie, “Him,” before picking up his trench coat and walking out for some fresh air.

Dean Winchester. Hasn’t spoken to him since film school, since that night. A shiver runs through him, despite the stifling humidity, and he tells his driver to take him home.

People still ask him if he misses the simplicity of his old life, and he wants to scream that they have clearly never lived in poverty if they still continue to romanticise it. As the beautiful scenery passes him, he certainly does not miss the days where he had to walk six miles in hole-ridden shoes just to get to shelter, not having eaten in several days. He’s home in a matter of minutes, it seems, and he drops into bed and sleeps the rest of the day.

***

As soon as he’d chosen a director, it seemed that the show was destined to go on, and he finds about twenty missed calls from Ellie for him to, in so many words, “get his lazy ass outta bed and meet the big-wigs”.

He practically sleepwalks to the studio and opens the wrong door three times before he gets the right one. Ellie, silently fuming at the conference table, hands him his coffee without another word. She’s clearly unhappy, and it’s not because she’s being forced to wear a pantsuit.

He drops beside her and hears Zachariah’s familiar drawl, “Well, Castiel, nice of you join us.”

Cas nods and only when he alights on the new presence in the room does he finally wake up, and what a horrific wake-up call it is.

None other than Dean Winchester is sitting just to the left of the front of him, and Cas surprises himself by not doing something rather drastic on the spot. He hadn’t expected this. He was going to gear himself up, look presentable. Directors don’t come to the contract meeting, directors are  _assholes,_ renowned for being so, thus most likely to take advantage of said renown, whether they’d earned it previously or not. But he’s here, in a suit, no less, well-fitted and not a pair of sunglasses in sight. He looks so good, Cas just wants to bite into him and-

Well, this is awful. He belatedly looks down at himself and groans slightly, and he doesn’t catch Dean’s confused smile.

“It’s your basic rights contract, giving you equal access to the film rights as the director does, although it’ll be your film, essentially Mr Novak. Same deal as the previous six, just sign the dotted line. Your secretary has already completed the preliminaries.” Zachariah drones, and oh that is it, he is so tired of people being a piece of shit to his right-hand woman and-

“Thanks for demotin’ Ellie in one fell swoop Zach, I know she could do your job way better’n you for less and with less pomp, but no need to get petty in front of the client, huh?” Dean says, wearing a shit-eating grin than Cas just wants to lay a huge kiss on. Woah. Reign it in, Castiel.

Zachariah splutters while Ellie smirks, and thankfully the business side of everything is over.

Ellie practically bounds out, and Cas follows dutifully before he feels a meaty hand on his shoulder and he turns to be face to face with Dean.

It’s just as difficult, just as mesmerising as when they were still essentially teenagers, when they were desperate to carve their names out in stars and bright lights and bring other people the same joy that film had always brought them. Of course, one night they pursued a different kind of joy, and Cas, he-

“Long time no see, partner.” Dean quips, but his edges are too bright and harsh to be  _Dean_ and Cas falls flat.

“Hello, Dean.” The greeting grumbles in his chest, and they stand altogether too closely and too far away. He wants to touch him, but he lost that right a long time ago. “I’m glad we will be working together.”

Dean just nods, looking to his perfect shoes, mouth a downturned show of agreement, “Sure, sure.” He looks up suddenly and Cas holds in a gasp at those perfect green eyes. “Bit surprised you picked  _me_ though, out of the laundry list you can probably afford these days.” He laughs, but there’s no humour behind it, and Cas is struck by how much deeper his voice has become. “Since you’re basically God in these here parts nowadays, huh?”

Cas nods slowly, “Plucked from obscurity, as they say.”

Dean nods again, and without a word he walks away. It’s like reverse deja vu, and Cas supposes he deserves it. It doesn’t stop him from feeling a deep ache in his bones in watching Dean leave, and for what seems like the thousandth time that day, curses his lack of timing and past idiocies.

***

He paces up and down. This is always the worst bit, waiting for initial director’s notes before casting and all the other finicky things that bring Cas’ words to life. It’s worse, this time, thinking of Dean reading those words, those words full of pain and heartbreak and so much angst, it’s a wonder how Cas even managed to write it coherently.  _He’ll know,_ he worries, he’ll know and he’ll hate Cas, probably drop the film entirely.

He hears a knock at his door and thankfully it’s Ellie, bearing fresh coffee and a new batch of anxiety medication. She sets it down, stuffing the pills in the fridge, and gives him a look.

He smiles bravely, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

She makes an incredulous face, but runs her fingers through his hair, kissing his hairline quickly, and zooming out the door again, probably late for brunch with the girlfriend. He sits forward in his chair and when the doorbell goes, his gut trembles and falls. The doorbell is rung three more times before he gets there, insistent trills echoing through his empty house.

He opens the door to Dean, and he can’t help but smile at his attire. He’s wearing a leather jacket, but not his father’s, too loose and ill-fitting. This is a perfect size for him, possibly even tailored. He wears a dark green henley and a scowl, and Castiel still can’t bring himself to be anything other than happy to see him.

He shows him in, and Dean steps gingerly inside, as if the floor is lava (and how many weed-coloured nights did they play that game?) and doesn’t take his shoes off. He looks around and shrugs uncomfortably. Cas knows it’s big, but he’s dreamt of airy spaces and lofty ceilings since the academy.

“Can I take your coat?” he asks, and Dean shakes his head a little, pausing before asking,

“Don’t you have, like, a maid to do that for you?” and he practically spits it out, like Cas is everything they used to make fun of back when they were young, and Cas wants to shake him, make him understand how important the contrast between excess and well-deserved luxury is, but it would be wasted on the famous Winchester stubbornness.

Instead he gives a polite smile, “Actually Marie only helps me cook on Tuesdays, when I’m trying out new recipes. Tuesday is Recipe Night.” he repeats needlessly for clarification, and he doesn’t know why he needs to prove himself to Dean. Or rather, he does, but he refuses to admit it.

“Huh.” Dean says, finally kicking off his shoes and collapsing onto Castiel’s favourite chair. “Well, you’ve done nice for yourself, Cas.”

He says nothing, opting instead to settle opposite Dean. “So, were there any details you wanted to discuss? Any imagery you wanted to clarify, or the way I wrote anything?” he asks, business-like, because that’s what they’re here for.

Dean seems amenable, but his hands shake slightly, like he’s holding something in. “Uh, yeah, I,” and he draws out a heavily annotated version of Castiel’s script, full of bubble-words and doodles and colours, and it’s so  _Dean_  it’s hard not to want to reach out and read every single notation, “I didn’t really get Moriarty’s reaction in the third act.” he starts stiffly, and his eyes are shining.

Cas tilts his head automatically, “What exactly didn’t you get?”

“Well, Moriarty’s goals seem to change. At first he’s clearly head over heels with Allen, then they spend the night together and he’s  _cold,_ ” he spits, “he treats Allen like shit.”

Cas feels something shift, like there’s a fire underneath his lungs, “Well, that’s because it’s just not what he really wanted. The ideal was too good for the reality to live up to.” He swallows down anything else, before he says something stupid, but Dean’s on the edge of his seat now.

“Nah, I don’t buy that, see, I think what happened was he felt Allen’s reluctance, like he’d pushed him into something he never wanted,” he argues, his voice thick, and his eyes are catching the light, his freckles at full-attention, like scattered sunbeams through a warped window, “and he feels guilt, but he still loves Allen, he’d never stop loving Allen, he’d never treat Allen like that.  _Allen_ on the other hand,” he shouts, and Cas’ skin is prickling like he’s been set on fire, because everything’s at boiling point now, “Allen doesn’t give a shit about Moriarty, he’s just aloof, constantly passive, he doesn’t care about Moriarty, and Moriarty feels that! He’s only seen as cold here to justify Allen’s actions.”

“Allen had no choice, Dean,” he tries to explain, his voice suddenly too low, too timid, “he was in a terrible place with his family, with society at large, it’s bigger than the both of them- ”

“Bullshit!” Dean cries, “Bullshit, Allen’s just scared, or he doesn’t love Moriarty, or he’s just too absorbed in his own ambition to see that he’s hurting the only person that loves him!”

Cas is growling now, matching Dean’s volume, “It wasn’t love, Moriarty, he was- he was confused, and Allen was confused too, that was all it was-”

“You fucking left me!” Dean finally bellows, choked with tears and Cas deflates. “You… you told me loved me, and I fucking- ” he’s buried in his hands, hitched sobs coming hard and fast, and all Cas wants to do is hold him. “Whatever man, it’s a decent script, I’ll see ya on set.” he says quickly, surging up and getting ready to get out the door, yanking up his shoes.

Cas runs over, his heart pounding, and he kisses him, hard, desperately, like he’s wanted to for so long he can hardly see or feel anything but Dean under his fingertips.

He never understood how much he missed him until the longing takes hold and Dean pushes him away harshly, wiping his lips, tears streaming down his face. But he’s waiting, for an apology, an explanation, something. Cas owes him that much, but his voice comes out too strained to be rousing; he falters, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And just like that, Dean’s out of the door.

***

They indeed don’t see each other until they’re on set, and Cas is desperate to see him, to give him his rehearsed explanation, but Dean’s having none of it. He’s ridiculously composed and friendly to everyone, the actors and actresses constantly praise his manner, and he’s the picture of civility to Cas. It’s the most painful treatment yet, because he knows that that’s not his Dean.

His Dean is made of rough edges and jabs and banter and razor-sharp wit and dated references and sometimes he can be cruel, but he’s also just human, and he’s got to stop referring to that Dean as  _his_. He’s not his. He’s no one’s.

Well, so he believes until he walks in on him in his trailer, going down on Aaron the First AD.

At first he thinks the trailer’s free and he just wants to apologise, but he clearly misinterprets Aaron’s wilting ‘please’ for permission to come in, and as he does he’s struck by a sudden urge to be sick.

Aaron’s hand is firmly pressing on the back of Dean’s head as he fucks his mouth, and Cas has never seen something so un-erotic in his life.

He stumbles out the trailer, the immovable image of Dean’s spit slick lips and gasping moans as he choked around another person’s dick burned into his retinas. He goes to his own trailer and pukes, not coming out for the rest of the day.

***

The days move by quickly, Dean clearly knowing the value of every day and not wanting to be wasteful, and they’re onto the one sex scene in the movie. Cas had written it as tastefully as he could to not get it relegated to ‘another gay indie film’, but he still hadn’t escaped that fate with quite a few humourless reviewers.

He shifts uncomfortably as he once again pities the actors having to act out his writing, but they certainly look like they’re enjoying themselves. Dean, however, isn’t convinced, and he shouts at them to either get a grip or go home and read the goddamn script. 

“This is  _not_ a love scene, kids,” he says over his megaphone, “this is two people finding each other, convergence of the twain-style. They’re two ships passing that’ll never get to pass again, and it’s meant to be more than passionate. It’s meant to be life-affirming.” He finishes, and Cas realises he’s been resolutely avoiding his eye the whole time. “You think you got that?”

***

Suddenly the initial filming is wrapped, and Cas is ecstatic that he doesn’t have to stick around for the large bulk of the editing process. Ellie manages to drag him to the wrap party since he’s expected there, and he does like a good canapé, so he assents to her total glee. She also makes sure he’s cleaned up to the nines, dressing him up in a deep blue suit with a straight black tie, styling his hair into bed-head chicness. He wears his clunking DMs because no one can stop him, not even Ellie.

As they walk in arm in arm, Ellie waves over at a cute girl in a shimmering blue dress, and she turns to reveal herself as the infamous Bela, Ellie’s girlfriend.

She kisses him on the cheek, “Don’t be anti-social. Make as many friends as you can tonight, I hear a couple of Parisian guys are here.” she gives him a thumbs up and disappears.

Cas looks around, lost, and decides to seek out the canapés, which turns out to be the worst, like,  _the worst idea possible._ He barely makes it to one of the side corridors in an effort to follow a waitress when he hears a horrid grunting sound.

He turns a corner to find Dean with an armful of waiter, can’t be much older than twenty, with sun kissed skin and dark wild hair. When he just manages to open his eyes, they’re a strain of blue.

He feels sick but he can’t stop watching as Dean fucks the boy against the wall, panting as the kid whines and scrabbles at the wallpaper, gasping and moaning, “Oh God, Dean, there, God, you’re perfect.”

But Dean pulls away, “No, no, baby, not like that, remember what I said?” he hikes the boy up, still buried in his ass and murmurs, “Do it like we said, okay?”

The kid nods, and he moans, his voice pitched much lower, “Dean… fuck, baby you feel so good. You’re gonna make me come. I’ll tell them all to go to hell, Dean. I don’t need ‘em, any of ‘em, I just need you.” and Cas’s blood runs cold, the words lurching him into one night under dark covers and long past times.

Dean nods, grunting, “You promise?” and the boy nods fervently, pressing a sloppy kiss on his head,

“I’ll fight ‘em all off. For you, Dean, for us.” He says it remarkably tenderly before he comes, and soon Dean’s following, grinding himself in his ass.

He stays there a minute, breathing heavily and the boy’s smiling wildly. “That was great, Mr Winchester, god, my ass is gonna feel that for  _days_.” he laughs as Dean slides out of him and he rucks his trousers back up.

Dean stops him before he goes, pressing a hundred dollar bill in his hand.

“Sorry for any trouble, kid. I know that feeling.” the boy looks at the money, and up at Dean again, before surging up for a deep kiss, breaking away breathlessly with tears in his eyes.

“You don’t need to do this.” he says, chin wobbling.

Dean smiles, and he looks so tired. “I know how hard it is out there, Mike. Just… just hang in there.” he says and with that Michael’s rounded the corner and gone.

Cas doesn’t even realise he’s at home until he’s puking up a three quarter bottle of overpriced scotch in his too-large bathroom. He doesn’t remember to get up, and he stays there intermittently weeping for the rest of the night.

***

He bites the bullet the next day, waking up with a crick in his neck over the rim of his toilet, and he brushes his teeth slowly before yanking the stupid tie off and getting ready to burst out of the door, but when he gets there-

“Dean.” he breathes at his finger raised ready to ring the doorbell.

He lowers it, looking at Cas like he caused the sun to rise. “Cas,” he says weakly, and he nods his head inwards, and Cas leads the way to his favourite room, his study.

The room is an unusual study in that, it’s comprised of a worn mattress and a cardboard box. It seems he cannot write without invoking the desperation of the poverty he was determined to escape. Dean looks around and furrows his brow, raising it at the sight of the mattress. Cas settles down on it, patting beside him for Dean to sit.

He’s like a giraffe learning to walk, his ever-present grace apparently abandoning him when he needs it most. Cas stifles a giggle as his butt hovers then thumps down, accompanied by a disgruntled sound from Dean.

And just like that, they’re eighteen again, and everything’s just fine, easy and so perfectly Dean and Cas. That’s the spell he’s under when he leans on Dean, but the spell is broken by that gentle touch, and his old friend flinches away from him, standing up immediately.

Despite the strange angle, Cas can see the light blush colouring Dean’s face and neck, and he just wants to kiss him, that’s all, just one last time, to stave away the horror of their actual last kiss. Dean scuffs his shoes and clears his throat.

“So the press tour is in a couple weeks.”

“Yes, should be interesting.” he answers wryly.

Dean scoffs, “What makes ya say that?”

Cas shrugs, “Just the fact that it’s a coming-of-age film about maturity and responsibility and consequence and the only thing those two poor boys are going to be asked is how gross it was to kiss another boy. It’s disaffecting, to say the least.” he finishes quietly, and Dean’s silent above him.

He shifts on his feet and finally settles on sitting on the floor and looking far too serious. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Cas asks nonchalantly (as nonchalant as he can get, which is not very nonchalant shall we say).

Dean sighs, “Don’t make me say it man.”

“Say what?” he challenges, and he wishes immediately that he hadn’t, because Dean looks utterly at the end of his tether.

“About you watching me! With Aaron, with Michael, with whoever else you’ve seen me with, you goddamn Peeping Tom!” he says, and he can’t look anywhere but his lap. Cas is stunned, his mouth gasping around a thought he doesn’t want to express, but he has to know.

“How many?” he whispers.

“What the fuck is it to you?” he growls, on the defence again because he has every right to be, apparently.

But Cas has had enough of this, “I want to know because you’re seemingly handing out scripts of my first time.” he says evenly, and that only makes Dean angrier.

“ _Our_ first time, but then again you’re Castiel Novak, no one else gets a look-in on  _your_ fucking ego.”

“I was  _eighteen_ Dean!” he shouts and that’s done it, he thinks. He’s gonna run out, and they’ll dodge each other for as long as they have to until they don’t have to see each other again. But he’s still here. He’s not budged. He’s sat like he’s listening to an episode of Jackanory, transfixed. “Do you understand what it was like simply going to film school? With  _my_ family?! You don’t understand! I’d been beaten within an inch of my life because people thought I was gay, and I knew, I knew they’d believe they were right when they saw you, because who  _wouldn’t_ love you?” and he’s sobbing now, and he didn’t want to do this, he had a script and it might as well be curled up in flames because it’s all smoke that’s escaping his lungs now, purging the anger he’s been carrying for a decade, “I had to leave you, because I love you, because I couldn’t bear for that to happen to you! You know they killed eight boys ‘round where I lived?” he spat, “Eight boys! All they did was look funny at another guy and they were beaten and left for dead, eyes gouged, it was disgusting, Dean! What if they did that to you?” he reached out because where would the world be without Dean Winchester’s eyes? “I couldn’t stand it, so I had to leave you, and I wrote that script to justify it to my _self_!” he thumped his chest, tears coming freely now, “Because how could anyone justify leaving  _you_ , how could I do that to you? And when I saw you, with those boys, with Aaron, it ripped everything out of me,” he admits, his throat raw from being burnt through with alcohol and Dean’s eyes are watery again, “knowing what I did to you, to make you chase me into ghostly versions of me, it was everything I did to you, and I’m so sorry, Dean, I’m so sorry,” he leans forward into his hard shaking chest, soaking his henley clean through, “I love you and I’m sorry, for- for everything, but I had to keep you safe…”

He didn’t know how long he babbled, but he woke up alone in his huge four-poster bed, echoing chambers and he chased him away again. Fucking idiot, should’ve sobered up beforehand, should’ve not gone on a burbling tirade while still hungover. He wrings his hands and clutches his stomach when he hears his door open.

He turns to see Dean, with a tray laden with beautiful things, like tomato rice soup and Tylenol and lemon and honey tea with the bag still infusing into the steaming water. He looks over at Cas and looks down just as quickly.

“I- this is for you.” he says stiffly, and he nearly runs away as he puts it down on the side table before Cas reaches up and grabs his hand, tracing the calluses gently, like second nature, like it used to be.

Dean sighs and lies down facing Cas, bundling up and kicking his shoes off. “I miss you Cas.”

Cas sniffs and nods, “I miss you too, Dean. I’ve missed you for so long, and I don’t particularly want to anymore.”

Dean nuzzles into his chest, and Cas cradles his head, drawing his tired fingers over his shorthairs and breathing him in. “What even are we to each other anymore?” Dean mumbles, reverberating against his chest. Cas thinks on this for a second, but Dean interrupts the thought, “Why did you drop out?”

Cas sighs, not really wanting to delve into what happened, but unable to keep it from Dean like everything else. “My family disowned me.” he says simply. He feels Dean furrow his brow again, and he would laugh if he could. “I couldn’t afford it and I knew I had to leave because I couldn’t let… that happen again. I couldn’t let myself go, so I let you go instead. It was the best and worst decision of my life.” he says, staring up at his dark blue ceiling.

Dean shuffles, “Why the best?”

Cas tilts his head, “You were safe.” He says it like the most obvious thing in the world, and Dean kisses him.

It’s softer this time and he lets out a small whimper at how sweet this gruff man is, how he still kisses like he’s eighteen, like the world’s a little dark, but he’s found light here, with him.

It devolves quickly after that, fingers scrabbling under sheets and he’s suddenly on top of Dean, grinding down onto his cock and it’s like heaven. He wishes he’d indulged more than once, but happiness is best when it’s sparse, or so his cynical teenage mind told him once.

But he wonders how much they can do this now, here in his bed, and he coaxes another drawn-out moan from the man beneath him, his dick twitching in its confines and everybody’s wearing far too many clothes.

He rips off his shirt and slithers out of his trousers and boxers and he’s gloriously naked on top of Dean, writhing and moaning like a two dollar whore and he’s so utterly in love he can’t bear it.

He chances a look at Dean and he kisses him, greedily licking into his mouth and grinding harder and Dean’s growling and throwing him down, heeding gasps of where to get the lube, and suddenly thick fingers are sliding into him, scissoring him open and he’s not sure life can get better than this.

He’s thankfully proven wrong when Dean finally thrusts in, his thick cock filling him up before slowly fucking him, like it’s their last time, like the first time was the last time and he doesn’t know when he’ll get this again.

Cas pushes himself back onto him and gasps and whines, wrapping his arms around Dean and snarling, “Never again, Winchester. You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go again, you hear me?” He hears Dean sob as he bites into the juncture of his shoulder, and he shakes his head.

“I can’t do that again, Cas,” he confesses, “I can’t have you again and deal with you leaving, I can’t go through that again.” He breathes, in and out as he rolls his hips. “I need you, Cas.”

Cas groans again and pushes Dean down flat on his back as he bounces on his cock, reaching down and kissing him within an inch of his life as he comes untouched. Dean cries out as his inner walls clench around him, and he fills him up all the way.

He’s breathing hard and Cas can feel his heart ready to burst because Dean’s always been his, and he’s always been Dean’s, but he’s not deserving of such bright light when he shut it out for so long, is he? “We really doin’ this?” he rasps, and Cas crawls over and covers him head to toe with his skin, sweating and kissing and desperation seeping from every pore.

“I love you. I mean it when I say I’m never letting you go.” he cracks a smile, “Not until we’ve at least had a couple more rounds.”

Dean grins up at him wide and overflowing, and kisses him back, making him scream for the rest of the weekend. After all, they’ve got a lot of lost time to make up. 


End file.
